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Author: RdeHwyll Story: Harry Potter and the Rampage of Ages Rating: Teens Setting: AU Status: WIP Reviews: 7 Words: 92,749
“Good afternoon. This is the first Advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson for sixth year students from Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff Houses. For some odd reason, no sixth year students from Slytherin House managed to qualify for this course of study.” Professor O’Filisteer addressed the larger-than-normal assembly of students at their first lesson. “Because of this, Professor Dumbledore and I have decided to combine what would have been two lesson groups into one larger group for purposes of efficiency.” “We will begin with a year-by-year review of what you have supposedly learned in the past five years. If you all cooperate, we should finish this portion of the curriculum by the arrival of the first Hogsmeade weekend of this term.” Professor O’Filisteer paused as he scanned through several sheets of parchment. “Miss Granger--You seem to have impressed most of your past instructors; would you care to enlighten me as to why Professor… Umbridge? Professor Umbridge seems to have believed that you, as well as most of the students of this course needed remedial instruction last year?” Hermione nodded and stood. “Professor O’Filisteer, Professor Umbridge was either under instructions from Minister Fudge, or felt she would please the Minister by keeping all students from learning the proper course requirements. Most of us--the students in this room--took it upon ourselves to attempt to learn the proper defensive spells, under the tutelage of--of one of the more advanced students.” “You mean Mr Potter, I believe?” “Erm--Yes, sir. Harry--Mr Potter--did act as our instructor, though he had to do so in secret because of Professor Umbridge‘s additional position as High Inquisitor. We… uhm, we referred to ourselves as--as Dumbledore’s Army.” Hermione seemed a bit flustered as she addressed Professor O’Filisteer. The retired Royal Army Sergeant nodded. “Thank you, Miss Granger. Having spoken on this subject with the Headmaster, I concur with your assessment. You may be seated.” He removed a wand from a holster-like apparatus at his waist, turned to the blackboard, and cast a charm that made five columns of spell, hex, jinx, and curse names visible. “These are the required achievements of each of the past five years for advancement in this course of study,“ he explained. “You will pair off and, in turn, cast them upon each other. I will be observing the results and dismissing the spell, curse, hex or jinx afterward. I believe we will have time to test all of you in the first year requirements before today’s lesson ends. Stand up, push the desks aside to make space in the middle of the room, and we will begin.” As the students complied with his orders, Professor O’Filisteer called off pairs of names, designating who would work with whom. By chance, Harry was paired with Ron, causing Ron to sigh heavily and frown as Hermione was paired with Terry Boot from Ravenclaw. “Feeling a little jealous, Ron?” asked Harry. “You know you have nothing to worry about with Hermione. She’ll be matter-of-fact about this.” “It isn’t that--I was hoping to partner with her so we could talk while the others were showing their skills,” replied Ron, casting a baleful eye at Boot. “Quiet in the ranks,” ordered Professor O’Filisteer. The low murmur of voices in the room went silent. “Potter and Weasley, front and centre. Weasley, you begin.” One by one, the students went through the list of first year requirements, taking turns being caster and recipient. When everyone was through, Professor O’Filisteer nodded. “Well done! We will continue with the second year requirements next session. Push the desks back into position, and this lesson is dismissed. Mr Potter, a moment of your time before you go, please.” Harry pushed his desk back into place, then turned to the Dark Arts Defence instructor as the rest of the students exited the room. “Yes, sir?” “You did very well today, Mr Potter. So did everyone else. I am interested in just how much they learned under your tutelage last year. Would you be so kind as to prepare a list of the spells you taught so I can compare it with the requirements?” Harry nodded. “Yes, sir. How soon would you like it?” “I’d like it in my office by this evening--sometime before eight. You are dismissed.” O’Filisteer shooed Harry off and waved his wand, removing the lists from the blackboard. *** It was dark in the room--chamber--hall? She did not recognise her surroundings, though she was sure she had come this way before. Shadows moved with the flickering of her candle, awakening the faces in the portraits to turn away on their own. She paused as she reached a point where the light no longer reached the walls, the candle failing to illuminate them. Was that someone breathing? Her heart began to race, her breathing came in short gasps as she slowly turned, watching for some sign that she was not alone. Was that a footstep? She whirled toward the sound, only to find him standing there. Her candlelight reflected from his glasses, his dark hair unruly as always. She reached out with her free hand to caress his face, stepping closer, then lifted up on her toes to kiss him. He responded by wrapping his arms around her, caressing her lips with his own. She closed her eyes and savoured the moment, allowing the kiss to grow deeper. Minutes later, gasping for breath she broke from the touch of his mouth. “You are mine, little girl,” he said quietly. She opened her eyes and recoiled in horror--her love’s visage had changed, now pale and scaly, with burning red eyes. “You are mine once more!” “NOOOOOOOO!” screamed Ginny, sitting upright in her bed. Her heart was pounding and her nightgown was soaked with perspiration as the other girls in her dormitory woke and came to her bedside. “A nightmare?” asked Imogen. Ginny nodded, still gasping in fear. “I-I’m sorry I woke everyone.” “That’s all right, Gin,” replied Eleanor. “We still have about two hours before we have to be up. Think you can go back to sleep?” Ginny shook her head. “No, not yet. I-I think I’ll go have a hot soak and try to calm down.” Suiting actions to words, she threw off her covers, grabbed her dressing gown and made her way to the dormitory door, allowing the others to resume their interrupted sleep. Tiptoeing quietly down the hall to the bathroom, she paused to lean against the cool stone of the wall, closing her eyes. A tear leaked out from under her closed eyelids, which she rubbed away with the sleeve of her dressing gown, then took a deep breath to calm herself. Opening her eyes, she continued down the passageway to the bathroom and entered, only to find that one of the large marble tubs inside was already occupied. “Hermione?” she asked. The Head Girl turned toward her and smiled, a slight flush coming to her cheeks. “Hi, Ginny. What has you up so early?” “A nightmare. I thought a hot soak would help me calm down.” Ginny turned on the tap to fill the tub next to Hermione’s. As the water ran, she pulled towels from the linen closet, hung them next to the tub, then disrobed and slid gingerly into the steaming water. “Ooh, that’s nice,” she exclaimed as she settled into the tub, then pulled on one of the taps that dispensed bubbling bath oil. The scent of honeysuckle began to permeate the air and a froth of foam and bubbles added itself to the contents of the tub. “Ginny? Are you going to tell Harry about your nightmare?” asked Hermione. Ginny bit her lip before answering. “No. I-I don’t want him to know.” “Why not?” “Because he’ll find some way to rationalise that he’s responsible for it. He has enough to worry about without my adding some false guilt.” “This nightmare comes from you and Harry and Professor Dumbledore finding out where You-Know-Who was hiding, doesn’t it?” Hermione was persistent in her questioning. “Yes,” answered Ginny hesitantly. “Because that Legilimency spell let me see his memories.” The youngest Weasley closed her eyes and shuddered. “How could anyone do those things and not hate themselves?” “I think he does. He hated himself enough to change his name, his appearance, and to hide the fact that he was Muggle-born, didn’t he?” “I guess so--but now he takes a perverse pleasure in what he does. He’s just plain evil!” Ginny shuddered again at the thought. “So this nightmare is a reaction to having seen those things and feeling his emotions. Tell Harry that. He should know.” “But--” “No buts! Ginny, Harry loves you--if you keep secrets from him, you are doing him a grave disservice, as well as robbing yourself of his support. Don’t you see that?” Ginny remained silent as she turned off the flow of water, then settled back to soak. “I do,” she finally replied. “It’s just that I can’t think of a way to tell Harry and not have him think I’m afraid.” Hermione chuckled. “Are you saying you aren’t afraid?” Ginny flushed as the absurdity of what she was thinking came to the fore, and she grinned wryly. “No--I’m terrified. He is out there somewhere, hating Dumbledore, hating Harry, hating anyone who is Muggle-born--and I am worried that now, because I saw his thoughts and memories, he might be aware of me and my relationship with Harry. I don’t want to be used as a hostage or weapon against Harry.” “That’s understandable--Ron and I feel very much the same way. Voldemort wouldn’t hesitate to use any one of us as a way to get to Harry.” Hermione sat up and grabbed one of the towels, using it to cover and dry herself as she rose and stepped from the tub. It was then that Ginny noticed what looked like a large bruise on the side of Hermione’s neck. “Hermione? How did you get hurt?” “Hurt? I wasn’t--Oh… you mean this?” She pointed to the discoloration, blushing as she did so. “Erm, this is nothing. Just a. . . .” “You mean Ron gave you a love bite?” Hermione blushed a deeper shade of rose as she nodded. “We sort of got--carried away last night after I made my rounds,” she explained. Ginny grinned at her friend. “So it would seem… Did my brother mark you anywhere else? Or did you mark him?” she asked wickedly, knowing it would make Hermione turn almost scarlet if either had occurred. Just as she expected, her friend’s face, neck and shoulders fairly glowed. “That’s none of your business, Ginny. What Ron and I choose to do is just between us,” huffed Hermione, who turned her back to the younger girl and slipped on a dressing gown, buttoning it quickly. “That’s okay--your secret love life is safe with me--at least as long as Ron doesn’t try to pull the ‘big brother’ routine on me with Harry,” grinned Ginny. “If he does, Mum might get an anonymous letter telling her just what he’s been up to…” Hermione whirled around, open mouthed and horrified, to stare at Ginny. “You wouldn’t--would you?” “No, I wouldn’t--but you could let Ron know I mentioned the possibility, just to keep him in line. That would be to your benefit as well as mine; you could use it to help keep his behaviour within your limits, and it will let me spend some quality time with Harry.” Ginny cocked her head and smiled as she waited for an answer. “Done,” sighed Hermione, agreeing with the other girl’s proposal. “Just how did you get to be so devious?” “Defence mechanism--remember, I grew up with Fred and George, so I had to learn early just to protect myself.” *** The following Tuesday greeted the two early risers with darkly overcast skies, gusty winds and a damp chill to the air. Together they left the warmth of the Gryffindor common room to traverse the route to Professor Dumbledore’s office, finding the hallways, corridors and stairways to have unexpected drafts. “Ginny, are you certain you want to do this?” asked Harry, for what must have been the twentieth time since Ginny had proposed the idea. “I’ve told you that I did, haven’t I? Several times, if memory serves me correctly.” Ginny replied, giving his hand a gentle squeeze of reassurance. “Harry, everything is going to be fine--stop worrying about it. Just think of me as one of Dumbledore’s Army that you’ve chosen to teach.” “I would if I had chosen--I still have my doubts about this.” “Harry, you’re the one I trust most.” He sighed. “Maybe you shouldn’t.” “Why not? “What if I find I like controlling people? Don’t laugh--when Voldemort tried to kill me as a child, he left me marked with more than just this scar on my forehead. If I can sense his thoughts and have his capabilities in magic, who’s to say I might not grow to want the feeling of power over others as well?” “Pooh! Harry, you are nothing like him, and you know it!” said Ginny as they arrived at the statue that hid the revolving staircase. “You’re kind and generous and giving and good--good to your very core. Sherbet Lemon!” As they ascended, Harry pored over his memory of the curse--how it had felt, what he had to do to be able to throw it off--so he could offer useful advice to the girl holding his hand. As they arrived at the door of the Headmaster’s office, Harry knocked, and waited for the invitation to enter. And waited. “Are we too early?” he asked Ginny. “I don’t think we are. Maybe he’s not in his office yet. Try again.” Harry knocked a second time to no avail, then a third. Finally he tried the handle and edged the door open. “Professor Dumbledore?” There was no answer. Harry pushed the door further open, and looked inside. “Professor Dumbledore?” he called again. “Who is that?” came a voice. Before Harry could answer, a second voice rang out, ”It’s the Potter boy. Invite him in.” “Is there someone with him?” came a third voice. “Hello?” Harry called out, wondering who was talking for several seconds before he remembered the numerous portraits in the Headmaster’s office. “Is Professor Dumbledore here?” “He’ll be down in a minute--he says that you and Miss Weasley should make yourselves comfortable,” came a woman’s voice. “Thank you,” called out Ginny as she and Harry entered the office. “You’re welcome,” came chorusing from the many portraits. Just then Professor Dumbledore strode down the stairs from his private rooms on the next floor, a tray with a teapot, teacups, saucers, cream and honey and a plate of Lemon Crisps following him like an obedient dog. As he took his seat behind the desk, he said,” Mr Potter, Miss Weasley, good morning. Please, have a seat.” As he spoke, two padded chairs rolled away from the wall and took position in front of the desk. When the two Gryffindors had seated themselves he spoke again. ”May I offer either of you a cup of tea and some Lemon Crisps before we start this morning? Miss Weasley?” “Yes, thank you. With cream and honey, please?” “Harry?” “No thank you, sir.” As Professor Dumbledore poured the tea, Harry took time to take a deep breath and tried to calm himself--he had felt a nervous tension add itself to the pixies in his stomach when there had been no answer to his knock as they arrived. “I apologise if we arrived too early, sir,” Harry offered cordially. “Quite all right.” The aged wizard took a sip of his own tea and placed his teacup on its saucer. “Now then--are you both ready for this experiment?” Ginny nodded. “I am, Professor.” Harry hesitated before answering. “Yes, sir, though I’m still not fully convinced that I’m the right person to do this.” Professor Dumbledore blinked, then smiled. “Very well, Harry. May I ask why?” “There are lots of reasons--because it’s one of the Unforgivable Curses, because using it is wrong in itself, like the misuse of Legilimency, and because I don’t want that kind of power over others--especially Ginny.” The Hogwarts’ Headmaster nodded at each comment. “All excellent reasons, Harry--and all the more reason you should be the one to help Miss Weasley. Think of it this way; would you feel concern about Miss Weasley if she had gone to another with this request?” “I--” Harry paused as the implication of the question hit home. Would he have felt concern? Would he have had reservations if she’d gone to Hermione? To Ron? No, Ron wouldn’t’ve done it--he’s a wonderful friend, but Ginny’s his sister, and she already rebelled when Ron appeared to be trying to run her life for her. She wouldn’t want him to have that kind of control. Hermione? No doubt she’d be smart enough to comprehend the theory behind it, but she has always been a bit bossy--plus he doubted that she could bring herself to perform the curse in the first place. “I can’t say, sir. I want her to have the free will to choose as she pleases.” “And so she has, Harry, she chose you. You are the person she went to, asking for help. There are more reasons for you to agree, but that is the most important.” “He’s right, Harry. It’s you I trust most.” Harry sighed. “All right, I’m convinced. I’ll try.” “In that case, Harry, Miss Weasley--shall we begin?” By the end of the hour, Harry was proficient in the use of the curse, and Ginny had shown some progress in lessening its effect upon herself, though she had yet to completely rid herself of Harry’s control. Professor Dumbledore felt that, with further practice, Ginny would ultimately be successful. “However, do not expect it to become easy, Miss Weasley. There are different degrees of mastery with all forms of magic, and this is no exception. There is little doubt in my mind that, if he truly wanted to, Harry could still control you completely, and you would become little more than a marionette in human guise. The same is true of several of Tom’s followers, and of Tom himself. It is my fervent hope that you do become able to cast aside the curse completely.” Ginny nodded. “All I can do is try, sir--and I will keep trying, until I succeed.” *** The weeks passed quickly. September disappeared into the past and the triple anticipations of the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin, the first Hogsmeade weekend, and the annual Halloween Feast all falling within the space of two weeks brought excitement to most everyone within Hogwarts’ walls. During this time, the Weasley teens and their sweethearts found that there were a few times each week they could be alone together. For instance, Ron had taken to accompanying Hermione on her nightly check for students out in the hallways as often as he could. Ginny and Harry noted with amusement that when he did, it usually took much longer for Hermione to finish her rounds. Harry and Ginny, on the other hand, had made it a habit to meet prior to their Occlumency and Legilimency lessons with Dumbledore. Harry found himself running from Potions with Snape to where Ginny waited patiently in the Entry Hall by the marble steps. They stopped each time to spend a few minutes together in the relative privacy of a curtained alcove on the third floor before racing on up to where Dumbledore waited in his office. Quidditch practices had also restarted. Ginny changed positions from Seeker to Chaser, Ron continued as Keeper as well as taking over as Team Captain, and Harry resumed his role as Seeker. Harry suspected the Minister’s reason for annulling his “lifetime ban” from the game had more to do with trying to make up for the Ministry’s previous stance on Voldemort’s reappearance than anything else. Of course, there were also the lessons. “Today you will begin brewing Veritaserum,” Professor Snape announced on October 1st. “The ingredient list and the proportions are on the board. Today, merely copy the formula and measure out your ingredients. The time necessary for brewing and fermentation will require several sessions at the least, and after that each of you will be visiting this classroom every day for the rest of the month to check on everyone’s progress. Some mixtures tend to ferment faster than others due to even the slightest mis-measurement, so a close watch must be kept to keep them from fermenting too much and thereby making the serum toxic. I shall call each of you to my desk during the lesson to schedule your time in here each day. Malfoy, see me now.” As Draco and Snape conversed, the rest of the class went to work writing down the formula and measuring out the ingredients they would need. Hermione and Ron were working together while Harry had been paired with Mandy Brocklehurst from Ravenclaw. As Malfoy turned away from Snape’s desk, the Potions master called out, “Potter--you’re next.” Harry approached Snape’s desk with more than a little apprehension, figuring that Snape would assign him a time slot that would conflict with his schedule as much as possible. “Potter, I’m assigning you evening hours at Professor Dumbledore’s request. You will report here every evening at eight o’clock,” said the Potions master, never looking up from his notes. “I trust that you will perform your duties in checking everyone’s potion without messing things up this year?” Snape’s voice had the timbre of someone trying hard to control his anger. “And I do hope you will abstain from your infernal snooping while you are in here as well. That means get in, check the potions and get out, in case you have trouble understanding what is required of you. Understand?” “Yes, Professor,” answered Harry, almost unable to believe that Dumbledore had interceded. He turned away as Snape called for Hermione to approach the desk. Returning to measuring out the ingredients in the proper portions, Harry concentrated on his exactitude, constantly reminding himself that even the slightest miscalculation would render the potion unusable, or worse, toxic once it had fermented. He was crushing the dried lotus petals to a fine powder with the mortar and pestle when he sensed someone was staring at him. Looking up, he discovered Snape watching him intently, a scowl on his face, before the Potions master quickly averted his gaze. Throughout the lesson, Harry caught Snape staring at him several more times, and was wondering if his being scrutinized was because Snape merely hated him or if there might be something else amiss. “That’s all for today,” Snape announced abruptly. “We will continue with the mixing of the ingredients during the next lesson, and placing your mixtures in carboys to ferment. Your assigned times of fermentation inspection will begin then. You are dismissed.” “Bloody hell, Harry--he gave me an early schedule! I have to be down here at four in the bloody morning!” Ron complained once they were out in the hallway. “Where did he put you? Right in the middle of Quidditch practise?” “No--I’m to be here at eight in the evening.” “And I have to take my turn from midnight till two,” sighed Hermione as she caught up with them. She gave Ron a quick kiss on the cheek, said, “See you at lunch,” before disappearing down a corridor on her way to Arithmancy. “I’d better hurry. I don’t want to keep Ginny waiting too long. See you later,” said Harry as he rushed away up the stairway to the entry hall. Ginny was waiting, as usual, for him by the Marble stairway. “Come along,” she smiled, taking his hand and leading him up the stairs. “What’s the rush?” asked Harry as she pulled him past the third floor landing that led to ‘their’ alcove. Ginny merely smiled enigmatically and said, “You’ll see.” She continued to lead him up the stairway, stopping only when they had arrived at the statue of the griffon that marked the entry to Dumbledore’s revolving staircase. “Sherbet Lemon -- with Butterbeer,” she said, and the griffon slid out of the way. “Dumbledore changed the password?” asked Harry. “Not exactly,” grinned Ginny as she pulled him onto the stairway. Once both had set foot to the steps, the stairway began to rise--but at a much slower rate than normal. “This takes almost exactly as long to get us to Dumbledore’s office door as when we stop at the alcove.” She giggled, moved closer to her boyfriend and, standing on tiptoe, wrapped her arms about his neck and kissed him. Ginny was right--they arrived at the closed door at the top of the stairway at the same time as usual, with the added benefit of neither of them out of breath from the exertion of running there from the third floor alcove as they had in the past. “See? Isn’t that much better?” she asked. “Well, yes--but how did you find out about the way to set the speed?” Ginny merely smiled and pointed upward. There, engraved in the stone blocks that made up the ceiling of the stairway landing, were four phrases: SLOW - PASSWORD “WITH BUTTERBEER” MEDIUM - PASSWORD “WITH CHOCOLATE” FAST - PASSWORD INSTANTANEOUS - PASSWORD “NOW” “Of course, I never would have noticed if you hadn’t been so daring the other day and made me kiss you right here,” smiled Ginny. “See? Sometimes keeping your eyes open when you kiss is a good thing. That, and kissing someone taller than you are at the time…” *** Saturday, 19 October dawned grey and dreary. A biting wind was blowing spatters of rain against the dormitory’s windowpanes. Harry had woken early, though he did not make a move to get out of bed until he heard footsteps coming up the stairway. The accompanying muttered growling could come from no one but Ron. His friend opened the door and slouched across to his bed, where he flopped face down. “Rough morning?” Harry asked quietly. Ron lifted his head and opened one eye to look at Harry without otherwise moving from where he lay in bed. “I will be very happy when I don’t have to get up so blasted early anymore to check on the progress of fermentation. Getting up wouldn‘t be so bad, but the bloody stuff stinks--it‘s enough to choke a Hippogriff!” Having spoken, he closed his eye and moments later began to snore. Harry slipped out of bed and dressed quickly. The chilly weather had permeated the room and the floor felt icy to his bare feet. He dressed quickly, then crossed the room as quietly as possible and slipped out the door, heading down to the common room. In spite of the early hour, Ginny was already waiting for him, sitting on the couch closest to the fireplace reading one of the potion manuals he had bought for her. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” she said teasingly. “What kept you?” “Trying to build up my courage to put my feet on the floor,” answered Harry as a blast of wind rattled the windowpanes. “It was a bit chilly this morning, now that you mention it.” Ginny closed her book as he sat down next to her. “Ready for today?” she asked. “I guess so,” he replied. “It’s going to be miserable out on the pitch today.” “So we’ll use the warming and waterproofing spells Hermione taught us, right?” “Right,” smiled Harry, “Or we might get lucky and the weather will clear.” As it turned out, Harry’s offhand comment proved to be accurate. The match between the Gryffindor and Slytherin Quidditch teams was expected to be fierce. The rivalry stronger than ever, especially now that Harry was back on the team as Seeker. Ron was playing Keeper, but needed a dose of a wake-up potion to stay alert. As both teams waited in position for the release of the Quaffle, Harry quickly scanned the now blue skies for any sign of the Golden Snitch. Madam Hooch blew her whistle, tossed the Quaffle skyward and the match was on. Ginny flashed forward, grabbed the Quaffle and, rather than heading toward the goal, used her fist to punch it upwards to one of the other Gryffindor Chasers. The ruse worked beautifully; all three Slytherin Chasers had followed Ginny and were now well behind her teammate as she flew towards the Slytherin Goal. The Slytherin’s new Keeper was a hulking brute, a fifth year student by the name of Oilyer MacHinery, who went by the nickname of ‘Rusty’. It was rumoured that the young man weighed in at nearly twenty-five stone and had to use a reinforced broom. He grinned wickedly as the Gryffindor Chaser headed straight for him at top speed, all three Slytherin Chasers hot on her tail twigs and slowly gaining on her. The Gryffindor practices paid off--at the very last second before driving straight into MacHinery, the Chaser did two things at once; she threw the Quaffle straight down and went into a vertical climb. All three Slytherin Chasers rammed into their Keeper, while unobserved below, the third Gryffindor Chaser was waiting for the pass, caught the Quaffle and flew to an open ring to score the first ten points of the game, less than ten seconds after the match had started. Madam Hooch called for a time out while MacHinery tried to regain the ability to breathe. The three Chasers were checked over by Madam Pomfrey, all three complaining about double vision. Several minutes passed, during which Harry applauded and shouted encouragement to his teammates, then slowly flew around the pitch looking for the Golden Snitch. Malfoy kept his distance for once, and spoke briefly with Crabbe and Goyle. The two Beaters grinned evilly, nodded to whatever Malfoy had told them, then went off in opposite directions. Ginny and the rest of the Gryffindor Chasers and Beaters had also huddled together to plan their strategy for the next go at the Quaffle when suddenly a Bludger hurtled directly toward them. Had it not been for the shouted warnings and quick actions of the two new Beaters, the hard black ball would have smashed into the small group with devastating consequences. Instead, the Bludger was intercepted and knocked away at the last moment. Loud cries of “FOUL, FOUL! THE SLYTHERINS ARE CHEATING!” could be heard from three-quarters of those watching the match, since Goyle had shown his traditional lack of subtlety as he intercepted the Bludger and thwacked it toward the huddled Gryffindor team. Harry, high above, heard the cries and looked down at just the instant Crabbe did the same move with the other Bludger, only this time straight at Harry. The heavy ball slammed into Harry’s side, knocking him askew on his broom. Harry held tight and tried to breathe, a sharp pain stabbing at him every time he tried to inhale, leaving him to wonder if he’d broken a rib. There was a quick flash of light and seconds later, his broom was shuddering beneath him, bucking and weaving wildly out of control. As he tried to maintain his balance, he looked down at the crowd below and noted a familiar figure standing in the teachers’ section of the stands. The violent purple turban was hard to miss, as was the twinge of pain at his scar that joined his aching side. Professor Quirrell? But he’s -- His broom kicked violently at that moment, there was another flash of light and a Bludger hurled past the end of his nose. When he looked down again, the turbaned figure was gone and his broom was suddenly back under his control. Looking around, Harry caught sight of a flash of gold in the distance and flew quickly toward it. A Bludger whipped past his ear then curved around and headed back toward him. Harry had a horrible moment of déjà vu from his second year, when Dobby the house-elf had charmed a Bludger to chase him exclusively. Is it happening again? the thought sang in his mind as he dodged the Bludger and watched it once more turn and come chasing after him. Dodging and racing away, he looked back to see the heavy iron ball still on his tail, definitely following him. He dodged and weaved for several seconds, only to see a pair of redheaded Gryffindors intercept the Bludger and knock it away. “Fred? George? What are you doing --” he started to yell, only to see a flash of light and the pair fade from sight. He was suddenly in the midst of a violent rainstorm, quickly soaked to the skin and buffeted by icy blasts of wind. As he looked down at the seats in the viewing stand below, a flash of lightning illuminated a huge black dog in the empty bleachers at the top. “Sirius? Sirius!” he cried, quickly flying toward the place where the dog stood, silent and unmoving. Is it really him? he asked himself. Is he here? He is not dead! It is him! Joy unbounded filled Harry’s heart as he swooped toward his godfather’s Animagus form, only to wither and be replaced with despair as there was a flash of light and the huge canine suddenly vanished. A sudden shock of cold and the immediate absence of all happiness made him look down, only to see that hundreds of Dementors had gathered on the rain-soaked pitch. He heard the keening scream of his mother dying at the hands of Voldemort, begging him to not hurt her son. Reaching quickly into his pocket for his wand to cast the Patronus spell, his fingers encountered a cold bit of metal--a chain and some hard object--wrapped around the wand. At his touch there was a flash of light, the weather suddenly cleared, the Dementors and the pitch below vanished and he was suddenly facing a Hungarian Horntail! The huge dragon lunged toward him, snapping its jaws--Harry barely reacted in time to avoid being the dragon’s lunch. All of the events that had taken place in the past few moments were so familiar that Harry knew immediately what he had to do. As he had at the Tri-Wizard Tournament two years earlier, he raced his broom first side to side, just out of reach, slowly going higher until the dragon, frustrated beyond its ability to think, reared up to snap at him. As he had the last time, he dove earthward, down and between the dragon’s legs, his eye on the gleam of gold, his target--and with a flash of light the dragon vanished, the Golden Snitch flashing in the sunlight not a foot from him. Harry grabbed at it quickly, his fingers closing around the small winged ball, and a cheer went up from the stands below. Despite his aching side and the confusion he felt from the previous few minute’s events, Harry felt elated--but only for a few seconds. He landed in the stands where he had seen the spectre of the dog, noting that it was the same place he had seen Sirius and thought he was the Grim three years before. What the bloody hell happened? “Harry! Harry! What happened?” he heard cried from behind him, turning to see Hermione running ahead of many of the Gryffindor students, climbing up the bleachers toward him. “Where did you go?” Harry gaped at his friends, the confusion of the events that had occurred making him suddenly feel weak and shaky. He sat down and noted that his Quidditch uniform was still sopping wet, though everyone else was dressed in dry clothing. “Harry, are you all right?” asked Hermione, concern evident in her voice. “I--I’m not sure,” he answered. “Did you see them?” “See who, Harry?” asked Hermione. “The Dementors! Professor Quirrell! Sirius! The dragon!” he cried excitedly, then hissed as the pain where the Bludger had hit his side suddenly returned with a vengeance. Hermione gaped at her friend, then stammered, “N-no, Harry. All I saw was the Bludger hit you and then y-you just--just vanished!” “Step aside, step aside, let me through!” came Professor McGonagall’s voice. Moments later, she emerged from the surrounding crowd and confronted Harry. “Potter, what happened up there?” she huffed, working to catch her breath. “I--I’m not sure,” answered Harry honestly. “He said he saw a dragon, Dementors and Professor Quirrell, Professor,” chimed in Hermione. “Potter? Is that true?” asked the Transfiguration instructor. “Yes,” replied Harry as he gingerly touched his ribcage where the Bludger had struck, wincing at the pain as he did so. “You’re hurt. Let’s get you to Madam Pomfrey without delay. But when she has taken care of you, I want to hear exactly what happened.” *** “TWO SHATTERED RIBS, A PUNCTURED LUNG AND INTERNAL BLEEDING, THAT’S WHAT YOUR STUDENT CAUSED WITH THAT DASTARDLY ACT,” Madam Pomfrey howled angerily at Professor Snape. Harry, lying on a bed in the hospital wing, could hear her side of the argument going on in the Medi-Witch’s office. “I WANT TO KNOW JUST WHAT YOU’RE GOING TO DO ABOUT IT, SEVERUS!” The Potions master’s reply was too quiet for Harry to hear, but it did not matter to him; the questions filling his mind about that morning’s events were more pressing. He looked down at his side and the purpling bruise that covered it from waist to armpit. Madam Pomfrey had repaired most of the physical damage and had slathered the bruised area with a lotion that would make it fade away within a few hours time. The injuries had been painful but now he was speculating about what had occurred. Did the injury cause me to hallucinate, he asked himself, or did I really see and re-experience the events from the past? The arrival of Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall interrupted his introspective questioning. Both wore looks of serious worry as they settled into chairs at either side of Harry’s bed. “Potter, please tell Professor Dumbledore what you told me earlier,” ordered Professor McGonagall. “It was like I was reliving events from the past, Professor Dumbledore. My broom started to wobble and buck, trying to dislodge me after the Bludger hit me, just as it did my first year--I thought I saw Professor Quirrell down in the bleachers. Then he was gone, and the Bludger was chasing me as it did back in my second year. Then it started to rain heavily, and I saw Sirius in the stands and the Dementors were back on the pitch like in my third year.” Harry paused, wondering if he sounded like as much of lunatic to his professors as he did to himself. “Then they faded away, only to be replaced with a dragon--it was like the first task during the Tri-Wizard Tournament.” “And this all happened in the space of two or three minutes?” asked Dumbledore. “I-I guess so,” Harry replied. “Mr Potter, everyone at the match saw you get hit by the Bludger, but then you just vanished. It was several minutes before you reappeared and caught the Snitch,” Professor McGonagall informed him. “No one else saw the things I did?” asked Harry incredulously. “Not even the Dementors?”
“I may well be able to answer that,” came a voice from behind the screen that surrounded Harry’s bed. A moment later, Anubis MacTeague stepped into view holding the shirt from Harry’s Quidditch uniform, Harry’s wand, and the odd watch and chain Mr Weasley had given him on his birthday. “I found this wrapped around Harry’s wand in the pocket of his uniform.” “A timepiece, if I’m not mistaken, Anubis,” said Professor Dumbledore. MacTeague nodded. “That and a bit more, I’m afraid. The watch resonates with Magic, and appears to act in much the same way as a Time-Turner, though much more powerfully and precisely, with the ability to return to specific moments in time as well as permit travel back to the present.” Harry gaped at the Auror as he turned to face him directly. “The question I have, Harry, is what are you doing with it?” *** “It was a gift,” answered Harry for what must have been the twentieth time. “Mr Weasley said the Department of Mysteries thought it was harmless, just a Muggle watch enchanted to keep running.” “Arthur Weasley gave you this watch?” inquired Anubis again, sitting behind the desk in his office. “Yes--for my birthday.” Harry was beginning to feel a bit badgered with the repeated questions. He and Anubis had Flooed from Hogwarts to the Ministry Offices some hours earlier, and he had been sitting in the Department of Mysteries ever since. Anubis and three other employees of the Department had been questioning him about every aspect of his birthday gift every ten minutes or so. “Look, I keep telling you every detail I know, and all you are doing is asking the same questions over and over. If knowing more about it is so important, ask Mr Weasley or whoever it was in this Department that gave it to him!” Harry growled angrily. “Ask someone who knows the answers! I don’t!” “We are, Harry. You say he gave it to you as a birthday present, but that was several months ago. You didn’t discover the watch’s properties before today?” “BECAUSE I HAD FORGOTTEN I HAD PACKED IT AWAY IN THE POCKET OF MY QUIDDITCH UNIFORM! I’VE TOLD YOU THIS!” Harry was losing the battle with his anger by this point. “I DIDN’T EVEN REMEMBER IT WAS IN THERE UNTIL AFTER I HAD BEEN STRUCK BY THE BLUDGER TODAY AND REACHED INTO MY POCKET FOR MY WAND TO CAST THE PATRONUS SPELL-- MAYBE THAT WAS THE REASON IT STARTED TO WORK!” “Harry, calm down. We’re not out to blame anyone, we’re just trying to do our job and determine how this got into your hands.” Anubis slumped back in his chair and sighed deeply. “The brass tag has a rather unusual inscription. It appears to be a form of runes, but of an order rarely seen. It also has a combination of Greek symbols, runes from the Futhark, and English alphabet characters. You wouldn’t have any idea what they mean, would you? “What do you think? My answer isn’t going to change from the last time you asked that question.” Just then, the door to the office swung open and Mr Weasley was escorted inside by Professor Dumbledore. They were followed by Mrs Weasley, Ron, Ginny, and the twins. “Good afternoon, Harry, Anubis, gentlemen,” said the Headmaster. “If you will indulge me for a few moments, I may be able to cast some light on the mystery that the timepiece has generated. These members of the Weasley family were present when Arthur gave the watch to Harry, and two of them were visiting in Arthur’s office when the watch was turned over to him. If you’ll allow, I’ll make use of their memories with my pensieve, and we can watch and determine exactly what happened.” Anubis nodded and the three other members of the department left the room, returning moments later with chairs for everyone. Anubis pushed the clutter on his desk to one side, standing up and offering his chair to Professor Dumbledore. “Go ahead, Albus--the sooner we unravel this mystery, the sooner we can all return to our normal routines.” Professor Dumbledore produced the pensieve from beneath his robes and placed it on the desktop. “You first, Arthur,” he said and Mr Weasley moved to the chair closest to the Headmaster. As the aged wizard placed his wand to Mr Weasley’s temple, a silvery strand attached itself to the end, pulling free from Mr Weasley’s head as the contact was broken. Gently, Professor Dumbledore placed it in the pensieve and spoke a phrase under his breath. Tiny figures rose from the glittering surface of the pensieve, becoming likenesses of Mr Weasley and the twins. As everyone watched, a fourth figure joined them and placed a tiny object in Mr Weasley’s hand. Both Ron and Harry sat forward, watching and listening intently as the figure told the tiny Mr Weasley that the Department of Mysteries had concluded that the timepiece was harmless, merely enchanted to continue running. The miniature Unspeakable and Mr Weasley exchanged some documents, signed each one, and the man left. Ron gripped Harry’s arm. “Did you recognise him too?” he asked. Harry nodded, clenching his fists in anger. “Recognise who? You know who that was?” asked Anubis. “We know him,” answered Harry. “I recognised him as well,“ added Professor Dumbledore. “That was none other than Peter Pettigrew.” “WHAT?” exclaimed Anubis. “But--but he’s dead, isn’t he? Killed by Sirius Black?” “No, he wasn’t,” said Harry hoarsely, breathing hard. “He killed all the Muggles and faked his own death, framing Sirius. Ron, Hermione and I saw him during our third year. He’s the one Sirius broke out of Azkaban to hunt, not me.” “But how? Surely someone would have seen him and reported it.” “Yes--We did. But it was our word against that of Professor Snape, and he convinced Minister Fudge that Sirius had us under a Confundus Charm.” Harry was shaking with a pent-up rage. “Sirius was innocent and spent twelve years in Azkaban because of Pettigrew.” “But Severus Snape said he never saw Pettigrew --” “He did, but he couldn’t recognise him--Pettigrew is an unregistered Animagus and had spent the last twelve years before that night as our pet rat,” said Ron. “Percy found him, then let me have him when I started at Hogwarts.” “That’s rather hard to find credible without some proof...” “THEN LOOK AT MY MEMORIES WITH THE PENSIEVE! LOOK AT RON’S! GET HERMIONE GRANGER AND REMUS LUPIN’S MEMORIES OF WHAT HAPPENED THAT NIGHT--THEY WERE THERE TOO!” retorted Harry in a shout. “CHECK THEM AGAINST SNAPE’S MEMORIES, AND YOU’LL SEE HE NEVER SAW PETTIGREW BECAUSE HE WAS UNCONSCIOUS!” “Harry, calm down. The truth will come out one way or another,” said Professor Dumbledore. “I do, however, think that what you suggest may be the simplest way to prove Sirius Black’s innocence. Anubis? Shall we continue?” The Auror looked hard at Harry, then at Ron. “You’re sure of your identification of Pettigrew? You truly believe it was him?” “Yes, we’re sure,” answered Ron. Anubis turned to Professor Dumbledore. “Do it.” *** “But--but it isn’t possible! There were witnesses!” Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, was firmly in denial. “Witnesses fooled about what happened by Pettigrew,” Anubis MacTeague countered calmly. “The proof is the reappearance of Pettigrew right here in the Ministry offices--able to do so because you chose to ignore Harry and the truth about Voldemort.” Fudge had turned ashen at the accusation. “Please don’t say his name. All right, assuming that what you are telling me is true” - he wiped the perspiration from his brow with a handkerchief - “how--how did Pettigrew manage to stay hidden all those years?” “He is an unregistered Animagus, capable of turning into a rat. One kept as a pet by your assistant. Isn’t that true, Percy?” Percy Weasley looked at Anubis in shock. “Scabbers? But he - he was just a regular rat. I found him outside The Burrow when I was seven! I gave him to my brother when he first started at Hogwarts.” “Just a regular rat? One who, by your own admission, lived for twelve years as you and your brother’s pet? Didn’t you find that the least bit odd?” “I - I never thought…” Percy sat down shakily, his face quite pale. “That’s obvious,” retorted Anubis snidely. “You both realise that Minister Fudge will almost certainly have to resign when word of this gets out--and it will get out; someone in the Wizengamot is sure to tell the Daily Prophet and the Wizarding Wireless Network when this investigation is complete.” A gleam showed in Minister Fudge’s eyes. “Perhaps not, MacTeague… this could work in my favour if the right spin is put on it. Wellsley, prepare a press release stating that, through the diligent efforts of the Ministry of Magic, it has been determined that Sirius Black, accused murderer of Peter Pettigrew and twelve Muggles, has been exonerated. Use your writing skills to make it sound like I had direct influence on this outcome.” “Yes, Minister--and my name is Weasley, not Wellsley. Copies to the Prophet and WWN?” “Weasley, Wellsley, whatever--Yes, both of them--and any other news services that you can think of.” As Percy hurried from the room, Anubis eyed Fudge sharply. “You won’t be able to cover this up for long, you know. The truth will make itself known.” “You just do your job, MacTeague, and let me worry about the ‘truth’. If this is handled correctly, there will be no need to let the public know what has transpired.” Fudge rubbed his hands together. “I see… If you’ll excuse me, Minister?” Anubis stood and made ready to leave. “Yes, yes, of course. Be on your way.” Fudge went to the bookcase beside his desk and pulled a volume from a shelf. “Oh, and MacTeague? Have a nice day.” ***
Harry turned off the Wireless that sat in an alcove of the Gryffindor common room then returned to where he had been sitting with Ginny. “It isn’t much for all he suffered, is it?” he asked his girlfriend as he sat back down next to her. “No, it isn’t, especially when it will no longer do him any good. At least his name’s been cleared of any wrongdoing, though.” Ginny comforted Harry with an embrace. “I’m surprised that his death wasn’t reported to the Ministry.” “It was,” replied Harry, frowning. “The Ministry must be suppressing that news so they look good for offering an apology.” Ginny looked up at Harry, surprised to hear him being so cynical. “Perhaps--but the important thing is that Sirius is no longer considered a criminal. You should take some comfort in that.” Harry sighed deeply. “Yeah, you’re right--but I still can’t keep from thinking how much better things would have been for both of us if this had happened a couple years ago. Sirius wouldn‘t have had to go into hiding, I wouldn‘t’ve had to spend any more time with the Dursleys, maybe Sirius wouldn‘t be dead now--and Voldemort wouldn‘t have had Pettigrew to help him come back.” Ginny slid closer to Harry and leaned her head on his shoulder. “All those ‘might have beens’ are of little comfort to anyone, Harry--it only makes the hurt continue for longer than it should. You have every right to grieve for your godfather, and you should never forget him, either… but don’t dwell on possibilities while you do it, unless those possibilities are in the future.” “A very profound assessment, Miss Weasley,” came a familiar voice over the back of the chair, “and very good advice.” “Professor McGonagall!” Both Ginny and Harry stood and turned to greet the head of Gryffindor House with some trepidation. “Mr Potter, I take it that you have heard the news about your godfather?” asked Professor McGonagall. “Erm, y-yes, I have. That’s what Ginny and I were just discussing.” The elder witch smiled briefly. “And you do realise the implications of these events, I trust?” “Implications, Professor? You mean about Sirius being exonerated? Won‘t that just mean people will forget about him?” “Sirius Black was hated and feared for what he had been accused of, and this news will not necessarily change every mind. What some people think, however, are not the implications I meant. I was referring to the offered settlement from the Ministry. While it is not nearly enough to make up for the time he spent with the Dementors of Azkaban, as his named heir, you are entitled to collect that settlement.” Harry frowned. “It’s nothing but blood money--I don’t want it.” “I understand your feelings, Mr Potter, but you need to think of the future as well. When you leave Hogwarts, you will need to continue your education, especially if you wish to become an Auror. That will take a significant amount of money in itself, for during the time you are training as an Auror, the pay will only provide the barest of needs for yourself. I imagine somewhere around that time, you may wish to start a family.” She looked at Ginny, nodding significantly. “That will require funding as well.” Harry remained silent as he mulled over the thoughts Professor McGonagall’s words had inspired. “Harry, she’s right, you know,” said Ginny. “It is an expensive process to be well-trained for any career. Given the fact that the Ministry has ‘forgotten’ to mention that Sirius is no longer alive, it may be that they don’t expect to have to pay anything at all and have made the offer only to make themselves look good.” “A likely assessment, Miss Weasley,” nodded Professor McGonagall. “So you see, Mr Potter, not only will it be of use to you in the future, you may well be making the current administration pay more than they expected to.” “It’s still too little too late,” admitted Harry, “but it might be for the best.” “There is one other point to consider as well,” said Professor McGonagall. “Now that Sirius Black has been exonerated, that means you will also inherit the goods and valuable properties that the Ministry confiscated at his arrest, as well as ownership of number 12 Grimmauld Place. The goods and properties can easily be converted to cash that can be transferred to your vault at Gringotts, but do you have any idea of what you might wish to do with the house?” “I-I’m not sure. The Order is still using it as a headquarters, and I’ll not need it until I finish with my training, at the earliest…. They may as well keep on using it until then.” “That’s a wonderful idea, Harry. That way it will be maintained as well.” Ginny was being practical about his decision. “Professor McGonagall, what must Harry do to claim the settlement and inheritance?” “Very little, actually--Professor Dumbledore has volunteered to manage Harry’s claim, but as Harry is still underage, he will have to name an adult executor to manage the estate until he turns seventeen.” “Ginny, do you think your father would do that for me?” asked Harry. “You’ll have to ask him, but I can’t imagine him refusing you,” smiled Ginny. “Well, that’s settled then. I will inform the Headmaster of your decision, and we can have all the details tied up by the end of the week. Good-night, Mr Potter, Miss Weasley.” Professor McGonagall nodded and gave them a small smile before turning and heading for the portrait hole. Ginny took Harry’s hand and smiled up at him. “See? It all worked out. Sirius’ name has been cleared, your future is pretty much assured --” The petite redhead stopped speaking suddenly and her smile disappeared. Silently, she moved closer to Harry and wrapped her arms around him, laying her head against his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I wasn’t thinking.” Harry nodded and wrapped his own arms around her. “That’s all right. Let’s just say that it will be there if I need it.”
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